


Party Generation

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fake Science, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Triggers, dubious assumptions about gender and sexual roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7876279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Tonight we're gonna be the party.</i> </p>
<p>Or: Bucky is triggered into a trash party state and needs to be fucked by the person who actually triggered him before he can return to normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party Generation

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt](https://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1801.html?thread=4136457#cmt4136457) summary:
> 
> Instead of going into cryo in Wakanda at the end of Civil War, Bucky comes back to live with the Avengers and various folks are involved in trying to help him deal with de-programming. Things seem to be progressing well until someone (not Steve) accidentally triggers Bucky into his trash party state and suddenly he's desperate to be fucked and it's clear that he won't come back to himself until he is. 
> 
> So Steve steps up to help. Bucky goes along with it, eager to please his handler and desperate and all that. (Maybe it's extra horrible because they have to be monitored during the act.)
> 
> BUT: after, Bucky still doesn't come out of the trash party state and gets even more frantic and afraid and expectant. It turns out that he has to get fucked by the person who actually triggered him before he can return to normal. (This makes sense since he would have to remain in that state for multiple rapes during a trash party.)
> 
> Basically, give me all the horror of Steve having to rape his best friend for his own good, but then it NOT WORKING, and him having to watch Bucky get raped by SOMEONE ELSE, too.

"But," Wanda says, and reaches for an argument Steve will accept. "He doesn't want to." And cringes away from the look on Steve's face. God, she's so dumb. Of course Barnes doesn't want this. He's just her latest victim.

"Steve?" Barnes says, and he sounds frightened now. He's kneeling, naked, on her bedroom floor, his head bent in submission, his arm tucked behind his back. His penis is erect, and there's—there's come, on his thighs. "Steve, what's—"

"I know," Steve says, and she can hear how he's still trying to be gentle. How his patience is frayed around the edges. "I know he doesn't, Wanda. But he needs this. You said it yourself. If—" She doesn't let herself flinch again. "If you're sure this time." 

Right. She has screwed up twice today already: badly, at first, and then unforgivably. Of course Steve doesn't trust her anymore. But she's sure. (It won't occur to her until later, curled miserably in bed, that she could have said she wasn't. She'll smile a little, around her hurt, to think that Hydra left some essential part untouched: like an engine running in a wreck, her heart's still warm.) "Yes. I'm sorry."

"What?" Barnes looks back and forth between them. "N—" He doubles over in pain; forces the word out anyway. _"No."_

"Bucky," Steve says, crouching down beside him. Barnes shudders visibly to have his friend so close again. "Listen. We were—I was wrong, about how to fix it. How to make you feel better. It was Wanda who tripped the trigger. She says she's—that makes her the one. Who can reset it."

"I won't," Barnes says, and makes a horrible choking sound. When he can speak again, he goes back to begging. "Please, Steve. _Sir._ Whatever you want—I'll be good—I'll do anything you want. Sir, _please_." 

He'd sounded eager before, Wanda thinks, begging Steve to fuck him, to hold him down, to _stuff his slutty hole so full of cock_ —he'd sounded desperately sincere. He sounds wretched now.

She did this to him. It's her fault.

" _Call Steve_ ," she'd said to Stark's AI, and Steve came running. It was the fifth or the sixth time, maybe, in the privacy of her room, Wanda sitting cross-legged against her pillows, Barnes stretched out on his back with his head cradled in her lap. She'd known they weren't supposed to, had been flattered when he asked. _Damn head shrinkers aren't getting anywhere. I'm not safe, like this, can't stay here if I don't—_ She'd arranged them both so they were comfortable, so she could soothe her hands through his hair while she teased at the edges of his mind. She could experience his memories, or force him to relive them; could feel for the hateful machinery embedded there, the coiled springs that would launch him into clockwork action. She'd dismantled two of them without harming him, had been giddy with his happiness at her success. It had been their secret.

Steve found her huddled on the bed, Barnes prostrate and trembling on the floor. " _Stevie_ ," Barnes had gasped, and then the begging started. 

It made her want to disappear, to be anywhere else but in that room with them. It made her sick. _Fuck me, please—I need it so bad—I_ want _it. Don't even need lube, just shove it in me, open me up—make it hurt—make me take it._ Then Barnes had tried to undo Steve's pants with his teeth.

Wanda braced for it, remembering despite herself: action without thought, tipping inward to press her face to her handler's broad chest, a clumsy offer in the hope of being held. But Steve didn't hit him. "Buck," he said, " _stop_." And then Steve got right down on the floor beside him and tugged him into his arms. "You're okay, Buck. Listen to me. Whatever this is, we'll take care of it."

Barnes had trembled and whimpered and pressed himself beseechingly against Steve's body. _Please, I need you—I'll be so good, just let me. Anything you want—anything—please._

"Wanda. Are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?" She wanted to take comfort in that steady voice, and knew she had no right. In a moment, he would hate her. 

"I'm sorry." She felt tears rising, and forced them back. She wasn't going to cry like a stupid, manipulative kid. "I was—I was trying to help him. With the triggers. I know he's supposed to be working on them with the psychiatrists, but—" And there it was: comprehension, and anger, and fear.

"That's—do you have any idea how dangerous—I'm always _there_ , Wanda, when he talks to the doctors. Some of the triggers are _violent_. And you were doing this—what, alone, in here? What if something went wrong? What if—"

Barnes whined unhappily, and Steve shut his mouth. Finally: "Okay. How do we fix it?"

Her face ached with shame. "He needs—"

"Fuck me," Barnes interjected, in a tone obviously meant to be seductive. "Please, just—I need it, please—"

"No," Steve said, but it was a question. Wanda forced herself to nod. 

"He needs to, um. To have sex. He'll be desperate, like this, until he—until he gets what he needs." 

"See, it's okay," Barnes said, and they could both hear the relief in his voice. "Please, I'll be so good for you, you can use me however you want—"

Steve tightened his arms, comforting, and Barnes fell quiet. "Is there another way? Will it—wear off, eventually, if we just—" 

She shook her head, mute with anguish. 

Steve turned his face away, pressing his cheek for a moment against Barnes's hunched shoulder. "Okay," he said. "Okay, Buck. Don't worry. I've got you." He cleared his throat. "Wanda. Why don't you give us some privacy, please."

She wanted the escape Steve was offering. She wanted to flee. But— "I can. If you let me—when the trigger resets, I can break it."

Silence. Then: "You mean—" Steve started, color rising in his cheeks, at the same time that Barnes said, " _Yes_. Yes, please. I want it gone, I want—" He broke off with a moan, his face twisting in pain. " _Please_."

She didn't understand the ugly joke, though, until Steve started to do—what he needed to, with the little jar of lotion snagged from her bedside table, and Barnes went abruptly quiet. She'd seen the appalled refusal on Steve's face when he realized how close she'd need to be, for this to work—but he hadn't made Barnes beg again. He let Barnes arrange himself into a graceful offering, head down, back arched in invitation, and let Wanda kneel beside him, let her settle a shaking hand in his hair. She closed her eyes, her face burning, and opened herself again to Barnes's mind, feeling for the pattern that had all three of them now in its grip. Desire, need, so overwhelming that she felt an unfamiliar answering ache between her own legs, and then— _no_. A rejection of the touch, finally granted, as complete as the craving had been. _No, not this. Not again._

_Stop_ , she nearly said, because Barnes couldn't. But Steve had already stopped, and desperation flooded Barnes like fire, making him moan with frustrated want. "Please, Stevie, I need it. Please—" And then Steve's hands were back, and Barnes's muscles locked with tension as he fought the urge to crawl away. _No, I can't. Not this, don't make me—_

"Wanda?" Steve said, and she tried not to hear how helpless he sounded, how young. "Is there—something's wrong, I think—when I—" He pulled away, and she nearly echoed Barnes's pitiful whine. Yes, it was wrong—it was unbearable—but it wasn't a malfunction. It was a game. 

"It's—that's how it is." Evil. Sick. "They wanted him to need it. To beg for it. Not to—" Not to like it. Not to enjoy it. "It's worse if you—god, Steve, I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, I—if you make him wait. It's harder."

It didn't take so long, after that. Not really. Steve raped his friend, and neither of them made a sound. Barnes held very still, except for once when Steve reached around to touch him, and then he flinched so hard that Wanda felt it like a shout. Eventually she was able to block his pain and his panic from her own mind, to silence the awful litany— _no, please, it hurts, I can't_ —and focus on the mechanism, the trigger. Only that. Only—

And then it was over, and nothing happened. No shift for her to seize, no realigning lock to break. And the shape of it came clear at last.

* * *

"Here," Steve says now, and he slips a hand under Barnes's elbow, draws him gently to his feet. Guides him to the bed. "Why don't you lay down, good, like that, and Wanda—" He glances at her, and she forces herself to take a step toward them. "And I'll just—I'll leave you two alone, let you—"

Barnes grabs Steve's wrist like a lifeline. "N—" he tries, but he can't manage it again. " _Please_." His knuckles are white, but it's his human hand, the only one he has left, and Wanda knows how easily Steve could break that grip. He doesn't, though. He looks at her.

And it's—it's only fair, she thinks, as she makes herself nod. She witnessed his humiliation, and now he'll witness hers. It's hard, though, even when he turns back to Barnes, when he settles on the bed beside him and leans down to murmur in his ear. Hard to move, hard to think. Should she—does she have to take her clothes off? Steve hadn't, not really, he'd only undone his pants, and he's—zipped up again, now. Barnes is naked, though, obedient to the dictates of his programming. What right does she have, to keep her dignity, when she's taken his? She's wearing a t-shirt, and a skirt that feels suddenly too short, and—socks, god, she looks stupid, and she doesn't know what to do. She touches the hem of her shirt, and feels herself freeze. 

"I—" She doesn't even know what she's asking for. "Steve, I—" He's not going to help her. He can't. She did this, it's her fault, and now she has to fix it. And how dare she look to him, after what she made him do, what she made him ruin. For _nothing_. Steve will never forgive her, and neither will Barnes. She doesn't deserve help, or pity, or _anything_ —she's a monster, an aberration. Only she can't seem to move.

"Wanda," Steve says. "Hey. It's going to be okay." She can hear him reaching for the right tone, the one that will reassure her, when he himself is dazed with horror. "I know it's awful, but this is what he needs. The trigger is hurting him." _You're hurting him. You've already hurt him._ "He needs us to help him through it. It's the right thing to do." 

She's afraid of them. Of Steve, who is hanging onto kindness by a thread. Of Barnes, of his body, which she can barely make herself look at. What had she been thinking? _You were doing this—what, alone, in here?_ Shame lodges thick in her throat. What a picture they must have made, Barnes's head in her lap, her skirt barely covering her thighs. The two of them—on her _bed_. What did she think was going to happen?

She takes her underwear off. Plain grey cotton, nothing she'd ever expected—nothing for someone else to _see_. The scrap of fabric looks wrong, crumpled on the floor. _Get a grip_. This is about Barnes, not her. She's braver than this, and even if she's not, it doesn't matter now. 

She walks to the bed, and gets on it, and swings one leg awkwardly across Barnes's body so she's sitting in his lap. His penis brushes the front of her skirt. "Good," Steve says. "Okay." Carefully, she puts a hand around him. Barnes moans and tries to sit up. Steve holds him down. "Wanda—"

She bites her tongue hard. It's not _no_ , or _stop_ , or _wait_ —it's _how_. Which is such a stupid question—she knows how, in theory, she's not a child—but it looks impossible. _Good_ , she thinks viciously, fed up with her own fear. _It should hurt. It's what you deserve._

She pushes herself up on her knees, and presses the head of him against her. And in. Bright, hot pain, as she gives way around him. She gasps, once, and Barnes makes a strangled sound. Steve has the courtesy not to look at her. 

She tries to push herself down, and then up. Her legs are shaking. She's not—not doing it very well. Her body feels weak. It hurts more—more than she'd—

It's a relief when Barnes breaks Steve's grip and rolls them over. He pushes her legs up, and it's deeper like this, and the pain is worse, but at least it can happen without her. She holds still. She is quiet. Not impossible after all.

When his thrusts turn rough, she manages to put a hand on his head. She can't actually feel him come inside her, but she feels the trigger reset, and with a twist of her will, she takes it apart. There. Done. 

Afterward, she apologizes again. To both of them. Steve tells her it's okay, although it obviously isn't. His eyes widen at the sight of blood, but he says nothing, and Wanda knows it's not important, not really. He puts a soft hand on Barnes's shoulder. Barnes jerks minutely, but after a moment, he leans into the touch. Steve helps his friend get dressed. 

When they're gone, she cleans herself up. She cries a little, with the warm water running over her face, and then stops. She'll need—a pill, she thinks. Tomorrow. She pulls on soft pajamas, and crawls into bed, her hair still wet, and tells Stark's AI to turn the lights off. She hopes Steve won't leave Barnes alone, even if it's hard. Even if Barnes is afraid of him now. She hopes they can fix it. She curls up, and winces. She thinks about how the place inside of her will feel like a wound, even after it stops really hurting. For a little while, anyway. Not forever. She wishes someone would hold her—but of course, there's no one. She hugs herself tight, and waits for morning.


End file.
